Proponents of an extremist wing of the less-is-more
school of thought, the Dwarves have wreaked much
underground havoc with highly confrontational (often blood-
soaked) live sets that are over in ten minutes
and "longplayers" of acute political incorrectness that
don't last even twice that. If there weren't so much action
here  imagine watching The Evil Dead on fast-
forward  these San Francisco-via-Chicago neo-punks
might be just another bunch of exhibitionists.

The Dwarves downplay the existence of Horror
Stories which, all things considered, is solid
reasoning. Captured in transition from teen Zappaphiles
(originally known as Suburban Nightmare) to circus-freak
speedballers, the quartet strains against the flower-power
leash, but never manages to break free. What followed,
however, is a metamorphosis as ungodly as any in the annals
of rock'n'roll. Toolin' for a Warm Teabag lasts but
nine minutes, but that's enough time for the Dwarves to
slash through seven post-hardcore incantations ("Free
Cocaine," "Let's Get Pregnant," etc.) that effectively
exorcise any prior embarrassments.

You might think that Blood Guts & Pussy's
title (along with the calculated offense of a cover that
depicts two lithe young women and a rabbit-toting male
dwarf, all nude and drenched in Type O claret) tells you
all you need to know about the disc. Think again.
Unexpectedly tight and musicianly (especially guitarist He
Who Cannot Be Named), the Dwarves reveal themselves as
informed pop students. Pushed along by the yammering vocals
of Blag Jesus (aka Julius Seizure), these eleven tracks
(fifteen minutes this time) are constantly on the verge of
falling apart, but that somehow translates into immensely
powerful forward propulsion. The CD includes two non-LP
tracks from the 7-inch Astro Boy. The Lucifer's
Crank 7-inch compiles seven alternate takes of songs
from the past three records, plus a devolved obliteration
of Red Crayola's "Hurricane Fighter Plane."

The water-treading Thank Heaven for Little Girls
(which mercifully bypasses the potential sleeve
transgressions offered by the title, settling for a
tattooed tyke) comes as a bit of a disappointment: by
trading the funnycar frenzy for a more lucid metal-punk
sound, the band loses half the battle. Sugarfix
cedes the war. The newly pseudonymized Blag Dahlia pauses
only rarely to offend (although "Smack City" is pretty
funny), while the band chugs along at barely over the speed
limit. The inner-sleeve art memorializes the wrestling-mask-
wearing He Who Cannot Be Named, who was allegedly stabbed
to death in Philadelphia earlier that year. It turned out
to be a particularly intricate publicity stunt, which cost
the band its deal with Sub Pop, which was embarrassed and
incensed over the charade.

A Hard Day's Nightmare is the real wild card
here. Recorded before the renamed band's move to
California, it's more or less a drug-sodden update of
Cruisin' With Ruben and the Jets, sound-collage
splatter oozing between relatively straightforward bits of
Farfisa-tinged psychobilly. The disc is more clever than
outrageous; a song called "6" brags "I ain't gonna be no
average dick." And while a cover of "Brand New Cadillac"
may have appealed to revivalists, there's nothing
old-fashioned about an album whose sides are titled "Sex"
and "Sex & Drugs."